


Amoral, not stupid

by Nemainofthewater



Series: Rip Week 2019 [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark!Rip, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rip Week 2019, RipFic, but not stupid, episode 2x11: Turncoat, i guess?, that time rip got brainwashed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Rip Hunter might have been brainwashed, but he's not stupid. What if he were a little more invested in self-preservation?Takes place during episode 2x11 Turncoat.





	Amoral, not stupid

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally be able to post this!  
> Written for the Rip Hunter Appreciation Week 2019: Day 1-The many Faces of Rip Hunter.

Rip Hunter opened his eyes. He was still in the small, dark, cramped room. He was still dressed in the suit that Phil had worn for the ultimately futile heist he had taken part in. Flexing his wrists slightly, he could feel that he was still bound to the chair that had been his home for the last few days. Hmm. Not optimal, but not disastrous either. Not now that he had come back to himself.

 

He felt better than he had for a while. Years perhaps: his mind was blissfully free from emotions, both the panic and pain that Phil had endured and the mental anguish that had plagued his thoughts since his family’s death. Although there were dull aches all over his body, accompanied by the occasional sharp jolt of pain for variety, it was nothing permanent. Nothing that he couldn’t heal once he had access to the Waverider’s medbay.

 

“Ah, Captain Hunter. So nice to finally meet you.”

 

Rip looked up. Eobard Thawne stood over, a small smug smile on his face. The power play was unmistakable: the man towered over him, oozing a self-satisfied confidence.

 

“Mr Thawne,” Rip said, “I would shake your hand but as you can see, I’m rather tied up at the moment.”

 

Thawne regarded him levelly for a moment, before bursting out laughing.

 

“Well,” he said, “It’s nice to see that neither the amnesia nor the large number of drugs we found in your system have blunted your wit.”

 

“Indeed,” Rip replied, subtly testing the ropes. Slack enough, but was there any point in trying to escape? He had nowhere to go, no access to any medical facilities, and quite a few injuries, both minor and not so minor. No. Thawne was taking the time to talk to him: it was evident that he wanted something. Best to see what it was, and whether it could be twisted to his advantage.

 

“Not that I don’t enjoy our chats,” Rip said, stretching out and making himself as comfortable as he could considering his position, “But I rather think you should get to the point. After all, I’m not the one being chased by a demon.”

 

Thawne frowned.

 

“Oh,” Rip chuckled, “You thought that I hadn’t realised. How quaint. You really ought to keep an eye on what your minions say around the prisoner: I’m afraid their conversations have been quite illuminating. Well, I say conversations: more like rants really. Suffice to say, I don’t think you’ll be winning boss of the year any time soon.”

 

“I fail to see what’s so amusing Captain,” Thawne said testily.

 

“You need me,” Rip said, “You know that. I know that. Your lackies have failed at extracting information on the Spear of Destiny’s whereabouts from me: unsurprising since I literally didn’t know anything about them. And now you’ve located and restored my memories. Bravo. However, you know that you still won’t get what you want: I am much more able to withstand torture than my amnesic self, and I assure you that I will not break.”

 

“Such bravado,” Thawne said, “From someone in such a precarious position.”

 

“Oh, I’m not afraid to die for my cause, Thawne,” Rip said, “In fact, I believe that I would rather enjoy it. Luckily for both of us though, I am willing to make a deal.”

 

#

 

Honestly, Rip rather enjoyed the freedom to cause as much chaos as possible in the sure and certain knowledge that someone else would be along to clean it up later. He was certain that it was what Mr Rory must feel like all the time. Being able to kill whomever he wanted, take whatever he needed without consequence, say anything at all without worrying about how it would impact time… It was freedom. And he had no intention of giving it up.

 

Watching a battalion of Redcoats eagerly test out their new automatic weapons? Case in point: extremely cathartic. There were, of course, easier ways to get his former teammate’s attention. But none so fun.

 

“Do excuse me gentlemen,” he said, “I had best prepare myself for the festivities this evening.”

 

Rip made his way to the tent he had been assigned, back straight and proud, showing no sign of weakness until he had ducked into the tent and let the flap fall behind him. Safe from prying eyes, he collapsed bonelessly onto his bed, stifling a groan as the motion jolted his still sore injuries. Thawne had left them unhealed as ‘motivation’. And because the speedster was a sadistic bastard.

 

In one violent motion, he removed his cravat, sighing in relief as pressure of the well-starched collar of his uniform shirt eased. He briefly considered calling for some willow bark tea, or better yet opium, only to discard the thought as less than useless. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. And he needed to keep his mind sharp. In any case, once he was aboard the Waverider he would have access to proper medical care.

 

Soon. Very soon.

 

#

 

It was, Rip thought, almost too easy. He made his way silently through the forest, careful not to attract any attention.

 

The Legends were all occupied, making sure that George Washington survived the night, and no doubt drinking copious amounts of alcohol and flirting badly at the same time. Perhaps engaging in a little spot of light arson, that would do nothing for the stability of the timeline. Well, no matter. He didn’t have to worry about the consequences of their actions any more, only the fact that they were predictable, not to mention arrogant, enough to leave the Waverider unguarded.

 

Stepping into a wide clearing, Rip tilted his head to the side. There. No cloaking device was truly perfect if one knew what to look for, and he did. A slight shimmer, not unlike a heat haze which, while not uncommon, was decidedly out of place in New Jersey at Christmas. He smiled. There she was.

 

As he approached, the cloak fell away and the ramp automatically descended: looked like the Legends hadn’t thought to change his codes, or to guard the ship against him. Remarkably foolish, especially since they knew that he had been taken prisoner. Even had he not made a deal, things such as coercion existed, not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t necessarily have to be alive or ambulatory for some of his failsafes to work.

 

He had once thought that should the worst happen, then his family would deserve to know what had happened to him. That they might like a body to bury. And he had never changed the protocols after their deaths.

 

Entering the ship was like coming home. It was coming home: the Waverider had been his for over thirteen years.

 

“Captain Hunter?” Gideon said, “Is that you?”

 

“Dearest Gideon,” Rip said, making his way to the medbay, “It is good to hear your voice.”

 

“I am also glad to hear yours, Captain,” Gideon said, “And to see you alive and well. When you were captured by the League of Doom, we feared the worst.”

 

Rip snorted. “The Legion of Doom, are you really calling it that? How…quaint. In any case Gideon, you needn’t have feared. I’m perfectly well. Better than before even.”

 

Finally reaching the medbay, he reaches into familiar cupboards and closets, picking up several analgesics and bandages as well as the more technologically advanced dermal regenerators and scanners.

 

“Captain?” Gideon asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“Merely gathering a few supplies,” Rip said absently, scanning around for anything else of use and packing everything he had already collected into a small bag.

 

“It would be easier if you attached the medical cuff Captain. So that I can scan you and make sure that you are unharmed.”

 

Rip chuckled.

 

“Poor Gideon,” he said, “You still don’t understand.”

 

“I understand enough,” Gideon said, “Are you not planning on returning to the Waverider?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Rip said, “The atmosphere here is a little… self-righteous for my tastes. Don’t worry though dearest: I’ll check in on you regularly.”

 

“Well now I’m hurt Rip,” said a voice from the door, “You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?”

 

“Ms Lance,” Rip said. He took a moment to steel himself, before turning around. She was leaning against the door to the medbay faux-casually, one of her hands hidden behind her skirts where she was no doubt concealing an extremely dangerous and extremely anachronistic weapon. Looking at her…a wave of hatred, dark and bitter and overwhelming rose up in him. He almost choked with the strength of it, trying to push it down before the rage overtook all of his rational thoughts and he was left with nothing.

 

After days of feeling no emotion, or at least no strong emotion other than faint disgust and smug amusement, it was a shock to his system. He didn’t like it: it reminded him of the man he was before. The weak man who was controlled by his emotions, who tried so very hard but never got anywhere. He didn’t want to be that man anymore.

 

“Rip,” Sara said, “We were looking for you.”

 

“Well you didn’t look hard enough, did you?” Rip retorted.

 

Sara flinched back, and Rip was viciously pleased at causing her even the slightest hint of pain. He wanted to do more, to draw his weapon and keep shooting until he ran out of bullets. Because underneath the hatred? There was hurt. Hurt that they hadn’t come for him. Fear that they had never liked him, that they had been glad when he had done their job for them and exiled himself from the ship. Maybe he should have done it sooner.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Sara said, “You have to believe me: we had no idea where you were. As soon as we got a lead, we would have come for you.”

 

“It’s true Captain,” Gideon said, “Captain Lance has been searching tirelessly for you for the past few weeks.”

 

“I’m not sure whether this means you’re a liar or whether you’re incompetent,” Rip said, “Either way, it doesn’t paint you in the best of lights, does it?”

 

“Rip,” Sara said, and there’s something in her voice. Something soft and vulnerable.

 

“It was nice catching up Sara,” Rip said and, drawing his own weapon, he shot her.

 

“Rip,” Sara managed to choke out before collapsing.

 

“And goodbye Sara.”

 

“Captain,” Gideon said, “What have you done?”

 

“Nothing that wasn’t a long time coming,” Rip said, moving swiftly throughout the corridors.

 

“Oh don’t fuss so Gideon,” he said, “It was only a gut wound. It takes hours to die from a gut wound. And I left her in the medbay, where the rest of the motley crew will no doubt descend in a few minutes. It wasn’t anything personal: I just needed a head start.”

 

“To do what?” Gideon asked, “You must know that you will never find the fragment of the Spear of Destiny on your own.”

 

Rip laughed.

 

“What is it with everyone’s obsession with those pieces? Dearest Gideon, I have no intention of searching for the Spear fragment.”

 

Reaching his study, he opened secret drawers and hiding places, amused to see that they looked as untouched as ever. Either they hadn’t ransacked his study as soon as he had left, or they hadn’t been able to find his hiding places: he knew which one he found more likely.

 

“What are you doing then Captain?”

 

“Why what does it look like? I’m packing Gideon.”

 

Items acquired, he grabbed his bag and closed all the panels and drawers back up. It had been approximately five minutes since he shot Sara, maybe ten since he had boarded the Waverider and Gideon had presumable sounded the alarms. He would have to hurry.

 

Running to the jumpship, he threw his bag in and started up the engines, ducking briefly under the console to deactivate any potential tracking devices.

 

“Captain,” Gideon said, “You’re leaving me?”

 

“An unfortunate necessity,” Rip said, “After all, without you the Legends wouldn’t last more than a week. And I need them to draw Thawne’s attention. Rest assured Gideon, when Thawne and the Legends finally pick each other off over the Spear fragments, I will be back for you. But for now-”

 

He yanked a wire out of the console, disabling communications to and from the Waverider, “Goodbye.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because I loved the thought of brainwashed/evil Rip going: hold on, no this is stupid I've seen how he treated his associates, I'm getting out of here while I still can. It was based on the premise that the memory alteration was more along the lines of removing emotions (apart from when he sees the Legends, and then the big, bad, negative emotions come out to play) than inspiring loyalty in the Legion of Doom.
> 
> Basically, I wanted a Universe where Rip travelled around being the time pirate and breaking time for once, while also turning up every so often to play the Legends and Thawne against each other. He also probably makes regular check ins to the Waverider to see Gideon.  
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
